


Sherlock: Books On Floorboards

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Series: Sherlock: Impact [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship, Holmes-Bitchiness, M/M, Moving In Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade move in together!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: Books On Floorboards

**Author's Note:**

> Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.
> 
> Beta: squarerootofrsquared

_‘Gregory?’_

_‘Yer?’_

_Mycroft managed to roll onto his side and Greg did too, though with much groaning and cussing. He suddenly felt like he’d aged a hundred years._

_‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Without you... I’d be lost.’_

_‘Same here, Myc,’ Greg smiled. ‘I’d kiss you but I’m completely fucked.’_

_Mycroft chuckled. ‘I’d hope so.’_

_‘Now I know why people wait a while when they’re getting married,’ Greg mumbled. ‘The wait is definitely worth it.’_

_Mycroft smiled and closed his eyes. ‘Greg?’_

_‘Mm?’ the DI yawned and peeled his eyes open. Mycroft was watching him with one eye and looked exhausted. ‘What?’_

_‘We are never, ever waiting again,’ Mycroft said firmly._

_Greg grinned. ‘Oh, I agree, Mycroft,’ he said and Mycroft smiled. ‘I agree one hundred percent. If I ever have to wait seven weeks for sex you can just fucking kill me right now.’_

_Mycroft chuckled and slowly, painfully, leaned forward to kiss Greg softly._

_Greg kissed him back and they both fell asleep quickly, holding each other tightly._

 

\--

 

Greg Lestrade was a little surprised when John Watson told him that he and Sherlock were about to celebrate their one year anniversary. Greg had known Sherlock before Doctor Watson; back when the genius had been wasting his life with drugs, sleeping on park benches and overdosing in crack houses. He’d known the messed-up, high Sherlock Holmes and the detoxing, foul-mouthed Sherlock Holmes.

But he also knew the good Sherlock, the man who could save lives with just his brain. He knew the person Sherlock was now; the man he was with John Watson. Sherlock had never been happier or saner. His relationship with John was the best thing that had happened to Sherlock; it had made him more accepting, more tolerant, more... _human_.

It made Greg happy, really it did. His two best friends had been together one whole year. He knew Sherlock was happy, knew John was happy too. Everyone was happy. In all ways possible John was Greg’s best friend. He’d known Sherlock longer, true, but John was the one who stopped to ask how Greg was. They enjoyed pints together at least once a week and talked about all the serious stuff both were going through, like wayward patients and chasing criminals and general life with the weird men they called their boyfriends.

It made Greg smile as he and John sat down for their regular beer and bitch. Greg was aware that he couldn’t see Mycroft smelling of beer but he really needed a drink. He hadn’t had alcohol in over a month, not since Mycroft had admitted to being an alcoholic. Mycroft had said that he could drink if he wanted but the DI knew Mycroft would be tempted to relapse if he tasted the alcohol on Greg’s breath. If there was a chance of seeing him tonight Greg wouldn’t even drink but Mycroft was working so he felt safe.

 ‘I don’t know what to get him... or what to do,’ John said as he sipped his beer.

He looked frustrated and Greg felt for him. The DI had a tough month as well what with work and keeping Mycroft sober. The politician had had a panic attack, thrown up violently along with many other symptoms of withdrawal, and had almost relapsed after a dinner with a bunch of politicians. But they’d made it through and their relationship was as strong as ever. Well, it would be if Greg could get up the courage to talk to Mycroft about moving in together.

‘Is there anything he likes in particular?’ Greg asked, downing half his beer and trying to focus entirely on John Watson. The man obviously needed someone to talk to and Greg wanted to hear him out before he voiced his own problems.

‘Erm,’ John said, thinking, ‘he likes cigarettes, my body and blowing stuff up.’

‘Hmm... right...’ Greg said as thoughts of John and Sherlock blowing themselves up with C4 entered his mind.

He smiled and John asked, ‘What?’

‘Well...’ Greg said and couldn’t help but smirk, ‘smoke a cigarette while naked on a pound of C4. After the sex, blow each other up.’

John snorted and Greg giggled, unable to keep the image of Sherlock and John naked on a pound of C4 murmuring “Happy Anniversary, darling” before dying in a fiery explosion from his head. While Greg didn’t want the consulting detective to die, it did seem the perfect way for Sherlock to go. No drawn out illness for Sherlock Holmes; the professed sociopath would definitely prefer to go out with a bang.

‘Yeah, okay, and when they ask me where I got the C4, I’ll point to a certain DI at Scotland Yard.’

Greg grinned and sipped his beer before starting. ‘You’d be dead so you could hardly point a finger at me. Though I’ll go through the debris, grab one of your fingers, and point it at myself, fair?’

‘Not funny, Greg,’ John scowled. ‘Sherlock blows up enough stuff without you putting ideas in his head.’

With a chuckle, Greg continued, ‘Also they’ll believe me over some nutcase doctor who’s thrown himself in with a junkie sociopath.’ John’s scowl deepened but Greg wasn’t done. He held up a finger and said, ‘ _Finally_ , my boyfriend is the British Government. Do you really think they’ll lock me up?’

‘If you kill his brother they might,’ John said.

Greg nodded and finished his beer. ‘Fair point. But none of it matter’s ’cause you’ll be dead. Another pint?’

John nodded and sighed when Greg returned. ‘What do I get him?’

‘Well, in all seriousness, what would he actually like? Apart from dead bodies.’

‘Maybe I could get him a body...’ John said wistfully.

‘Yeah,’ Greg grunted, ‘just don’t kill a person yourself. And don’t steal one of my murder victims, Dr Watson.’

John snorted and fiddled with his almost empty glass. He always did it, Greg noted, when he was anxious.

‘You’re seriously worried?’

‘’Course I am,’ John frowned. ‘We’ve been together a year, _one whole year_ , Greg. What am I supposed to get him? He sulks when I get something wrong and I don’t want him thinking I want out of the relationship. Lord knows we’ve had enough of that over the past twelve months.’

‘Hmm,’ Greg mused and sipped his drink. ‘Has he ever expressed a need for something? Other than your body, explosions, cigarettes, and dead bodies?’

‘No, not really,’ John sighed. ‘He never really wants anything apart from the usual... bloody hell, why can’t he be normal?’

‘If he was normal you wouldn’t be dating him,’ Greg pointed out. If Mycroft was normal Greg wouldn’t be dating him either. Greg loved Mycroft because of all his Holmes charm and weirdness. The man was crazy and dramatic and dangerous; Greg absolutely loved it all.

‘True.’

Greg downed his beer quickly, his second in five minutes, and looked up to see John frowning at him.

‘Are you alright?’

‘No,’ the detective said honestly and John raised his eyebrows. Greg’s mind churned as he thought about his boyfriend.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I want to move in with Mycroft,’ Greg confessed.

‘And that’s a bad thing?’ John asked.

Greg sighed in frustration. He badly wanted to move in with Mycroft but after the whole alcohol thing he wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Mycroft had lost so much of his control after admitting alcohol had a hold on his life. He’d completely broken down more than once over the past month and Greg hated seeing him that disturbed. He didn’t want to risk another panic attack by asking to move in. What if Mycroft saw it as a further loss of control?

‘After the whole alcohol thing he’s been very... controlling, about everything he does,’ Greg admitted. ‘His diet, his work, everything. The only thing he doesn’t do properly is sleep and fucking eat. A diet, seriously, have you seen how thin the man is?’

Greg sighed and sipped his beer. Mycroft was still adamant he had to be on a diet; still denied that he needed nine hours of sleep or a healthy meal. Greg really didn’t care about the sleeping; it seemed all Holmeses could operate on four hours sleep every three days. But the diet... Greg was worried.

‘Anyway, he’s not going to let me waltz in and disrupt his little plan. He’s so fucking controlling. I just want to move in with him, is that so much to ask?’

Greg got another beer and sucked it down as fast as he could without choking. He swallowed the liquid and looked up at John.

‘Er, okay,’ John said, ‘bit of a mouthful. Right, first things first; possible eating disorder, look into that. Possible OCD, that’s obsessive compulsive disorder, probably manifested because of having Sherlock for a brother and the work he does. That’d tie in with the weight thing and not sleeping. Erm, all I can say is to broach the subject with him, you know, slowly. Just hint at what you want, you know?’

Greg nodded slowly. ‘Right... eating disorder...’ He knew it, of course, he wasn’t an idiot. The way Mycroft ate, or didn’t eat, was a clear indication of an eating disorder. He had started eating more when Greg traded kisses for food but now that they were having sex again Mycroft had fallen back to not eating all day. Greg turned John’s advice over in his mind as he worried about how to get Mycroft to eat more.

‘What do I get him?’ John asked and Greg smiled. John had the weird ability to jump from one topic to another; Greg guessed it was his army/doctor training. The man could multitask like mad. One second he’d be talking about a particularly trying time in Afghanistan, the next he’d be asking the latest footy score.

Greg sipped his beer and focused on John. He could see the man was worried and decided he’d be a good friend and help out... then he could worry more about Mycroft.

‘Well... I dunno, John, honestly. Romantic dinner, that’s a given. Maybe at that place where you first ate together and had your first date... Angel’s or something?’

‘Angelo’s.’

‘Right, go there. The guy’s a friend of Sherlock’s, right?’ John nodded. ‘Perfect. Set up a romantic dinner and just lavish him with attention. But maybe Sherlock already has that planned... want me to ask him?’

John nodded and Greg flipped out his phone.

‘ _What do you want_?’ the consulting detective answered and Greg smiled. It was never, ‘Hello,’ or, ‘Nice to hear from you.’

‘Sherlock, you actually answered... huh, are you high?’

‘ _I am NOT high!_ ’ Sherlock practically shouted and Greg grinned. ‘ _Are you and my brother conspiring to raid my flat again?_ ’

‘No, it was a joke,’ Greg reassured him and heard Sherlock scoff. ‘Anyway, Johnny here wants to plan something special for your anniversary. You don’t have anything planned, right?’

He ran his finger around the edge of the glass as Sherlock answered. ‘ _Yes, I was thinking dinner at home, why? It’s only one year, Lestrade, surely I don’t have to do anything too outrageous... do I? I mean, dinner at home is okay, right_?’

Greg smiled as Sherlock rambled on. The man actually sounded nervous, like he didn’t want to disappoint John. The doctor had changed Sherlock so much and Greg was glad; Sherlock was happier than he ever had been.

‘Yeah, cancel that, that’s completely stupid,’ Greg said.

‘ _What? Am I just supposed to let John do all the planning?_ ’

‘Yeah, let John do that part,’ Greg nodded. John was probably better at the romantic things. ‘So what are you getting him?’

Sherlock hesitated before saying, ‘ _A while ago, when John came home drunk and I put him to bed, we had a conversation about my violin case._ ’ He took a breath before continuing. ‘ _I said I needed a new one and John told me he’d buy it. He was drunk, of course, so I hardly think he was serious. But he told me he wanted a journal, maybe an amber one. He said he misses writing and wants a notebook to scrawl in. I thought that might be nice._ ’

Greg listened quietly and felt his smile get bigger and bigger, settling on a full grown grin when Sherlock had finished. That was perfect. Greg knew how much John liked writing (he and all of Scotland Yard read the doctor’s blog) and a journal was perfect. Plus the fact that John actually said he wanted one meant he’d like the gift. And Sherlock had remembered, had listened to John’s drunken wishes and stored the information away. He was a lot more romantic than Greg had thought.

‘ _Do you think he’ll like it_?’ Sherlock asked, breaking Greg from his thoughts.

‘Damn, that’s perfect, Sherlock,’ Greg said and looked up to see John watching him, eyebrows raised. ‘Really, well done, he’ll love that.’

‘ _And that’s all I have to do_?’ Sherlock asked, suddenly seeking Greg’s advice again. Greg smiled.

‘Yep, let him plan the dinner, you just give him that gift. And sex, remember sex.’

‘ _I don’t need your advice on my sex life, Lestrade!_ ’ Sherlock shouted and Greg chuckled. ‘ _What is John getting me_?’

‘No, I’m not telling you what he’s getting you.’

‘ _Why not?_ ’ Sherlock demanded.

‘ Nope.... no... Sherlock,’ Greg said, fighting to get a word in as Sherlock continued bombarding him with questions. ‘... I don’t care, I’ll have Mycroft on you in a minute.’

‘ _FUCK YOU!_ ’

Greg pulled the phone away from his ear as the dial tone beeped. ‘Swore and hung up,’ he said to John, slipping his phone away.

‘What’s he getting me?’

Greg grinned. ‘No way am I ruining that surprise, John Watson. Just wait, you’ll love it. He’s really put some thought into it. Seems Sherlock _can_ be romantic when he uses that massive intellect for good.’

John shook his head and started on his second beer. ‘I still don’t know what to get him.’

Greg paused and looked John over. Sherlock had mentioned needing a new violin case and Greg knew it wasn’t something he’d buy himself. John could get it for him.

‘What?’

‘Just... think, John,’ Greg said. He wanted to tell John what to get but thought it would be better if the doctor figured it out himself; more romantic. ‘Run through every meaningful conversation and _think._ Go back to 221B and look around, think about what Sherlock wants and loves.’

‘Did he tell you what he wants?’

‘No,’ Greg said and shook his head, ‘just mentioned something from a long time ago. I think you’ll remember soon enough. He didn’t say that’s what he specifically wanted but the fact that you remembered will show him you’re in it for the long run.’

John sighed in frustration. ‘You annoy me, Gregory.’

‘You love it, Johnathan.’

John rolled his eyes.

They got up to play pool and John groaned loudly. He sucked and guzzled down half his beer to make himself feel better.

‘So, Mycroft,’ Greg said, once again steering the conversation to him and his problems.

‘How’s the drinking thing?’ John asked as he tried, and failed, to sink one of his balls.

‘Good, he’s been sober a month. He pines for a drink, though, I can tell. He’s smoking more which has started me up again. But he’s sober.’

‘And the eating?’ John asked as Greg sunk two balls in a row.

Greg sighed and leaned against his pool cue, thinking about all the times Mycroft had avoided food. Mostly he said he’d eaten earlier which Greg knew wasn’t true.

‘I don’t know what it is. He controls everything he eats. Sometimes, and only on rare occasions, does he indulge in fatty food. And even then he barely eats any of it. He’s as thin as a rake and getting thinner now that he’s stopped drinking.’

He could feel John’s eyes on him as he thought about his boyfriend carefully. There had to be a way for him to get Mycroft to eat more, to confess to having a problem. But could Greg really drag that out of him so close to Mycroft getting sober? He didn’t want it to turn into another full-blown argument where Mycroft did something stupid.

‘I want to move in together because I love him,’ Greg continued and sunk another ball. ‘ _And_ because I want to keep an eye on him. Even his assistant worries; she says he never eats at work.’ He groaned as the white ball followed the black in. ‘Fuck it.’

Greg paid for another round as John spoke.

‘Just... talk to him, Greg. Not all at once, you know the Holmeses; an assault and Mycroft will hunker down. Just... slowly, yeah? Eating disorders are hard to crack, especially with men and with Mycroft’s age. It’s bullshit that only teenage girls do it.’

‘I know,’ Greg said and slipped more money into the table. ‘I just don’t know what to do. He’s so fucking stubborn. Anyway, enough about my problems. You and Sherlock, that romantic date at... Angero’s or whatever. That’ll be golden.’

‘And the present?’ John asked as Greg started putting balls on the table.

‘Sit in your living room and look around, John,’ he said, knowing Sherlock’s violin always sat against the wall.

‘What?’

Greg smirked. ‘Just do it.’

 

-oOo-

 

Greg was doing paperwork when his phone rang. He looked down at the caller ID: John Watson. Greg sighed. He’d been hoping to hear from Mycroft. His boyfriend had been out of the country a week and Greg missed him, as usual.

‘Lestrade here.’

‘ _I know what to get him_ ,’ John’s excited voice came through the phone.

Greg smiled, glad John had figured it out. ‘Good. He’ll love it.’

‘ _Yeah, I know,_ ’ John said and hung up.

‘How rude,’ Greg muttered and dropped his phone. There was a knock on the door and he looked up. ‘Yeah?’

Mycroft Holmes stepped in and Greg grinned. ‘Good afternoon, Detective Inspector.’

‘Mr Holmes,’ Greg smiled and stood.

Mycroft locked the door and turned to find Greg before him. Greg wasted no time in locking lips with his boyfriend, pushing his tongue into Mycroft’s mouth and groaning at the taste. There was soft drink and gum and tobacco, making Greg want a cigarette.

He pulled back. ‘How many?’

‘Pardon?’

‘How many cigarettes, Mycroft?’

The politician sighed. ‘A packet.’

‘Already?’

‘Today, yes.’

Greg frowned at him. ‘Mycroft, we have to quit.’

‘I know,’ his boyfriend pouted. ‘But it’s difficult, Gregory. You know that.’

‘Yeah, I do,’ Greg sighed. He’d been trying to quit for twenty years. Suddenly Mycroft was pulling at his shirt and ducking a swift hand up his back. ‘Mycroft.’

‘Mm?’ the politician mumbled, leaning down to kiss his jaw.

‘Stop that, I’m trying to yell at you.’

‘Please continue,’ Mycroft smiled, running his lips along Greg’s. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’

Greg shivered. He hadn’t seen Mycroft in a few days. And while he wanted to yell, and maybe slap him, Mycroft’s hands and lips were making it really difficult to concentrate.

‘Myc,’ he moaned as Mycroft’s other hand dropped to clutch his arse.

‘Yes?’

‘Do you have lube?’

Mycroft chuckled. His hand left Greg’s arse and slipped into his jacket. It came out holding a condom and bottle of lube.

Greg pulled Mycroft back to his desk and, after making sure the blinds were drawn, pulled at his boyfriend’s belt. Mycroft watched him, running a hand through the spiky grey hair he loved so much.

Mycroft’s trousers dropped around his ankles and Greg pulled his boxers down, letting his throbbing cock free. The politician groaned as his boyfriend took him in his mouth, sucking and cupping his balls.

He enjoyed Greg’s teasing tongue and soft lips for a few more minutes before dragging him up. He fiddled with Greg’s belt and finally managed to get the man’s trousers and underwear down. He took Greg’s cock in his hand and rubbed softly, Greg moaning into his ear.

‘Please fuck me,’ Mycroft begged.

Greg’s eyes flew open. ‘Mycroft, it hasn’t been two months.’

When Mycroft had admitted to being an alcoholic, Greg had made a deal with him; One kiss for each day he went without a drink. If he went a week he got a rub. Two weeks, a hand job. Three weeks, a blow job, four weeks Greg would make him come with his fingers and finally, if Mycroft was sober for one full month, Greg would let the politician fuck him.

Mycroft had been sober one month and three weeks. They’d had sex multiple times since that first month of sobriety and while Mycroft loved it he wanted Greg inside him; he missed being filled by his boyfriend. Greg knew it but wasn’t giving in.

‘Please,’ Mycroft begged again.

‘Nope,’ Greg said. ‘Two months, Mr Holmes. After that I’ll fuck you as long as I bloody can.’

Mycroft sighed and kissed him softly. ‘You’re such a tease. And you hate me.’

‘If I hated you I wouldn’t be doing this,’ Greg said. He pushed Mycroft back and bent himself over his desk, pushing his arse towards his boyfriend.

Mycroft groaned and ripped open the condom. He rolled the rubber onto his erection and slathered his cock with lube. He dropped the bottle and grabbed Greg’s hips, moving his cock to his boyfriend’s entrance.

He pushed with one slick, swift movement, entering Greg completely. He groaned at the tightness and started moving immediately.

‘Jesus...’ Greg groaned, fingers curling into fists. His forearms pushed against papers and pens, some dropping to the floor as Mycroft set up a blinding pace.

Mycroft couldn’t get a word out as he continued thrusting into Greg, an orgasm already pulling at him. One long week and no sex; he couldn’t be blamed for fucking Greg as fast and hard as he could.

Greg managed to reach into his desk draw for the box of tissues he kept stashed just for this occasion. He didn’t finish until five and couldn’t very well walk around Scotland Yard wet.

‘God... fuck... ngh,’ Greg groaned and gasped and stroked his aching cock. He lost it completely when Mycroft’s strong, soft hand enveloped his own, pumping in time with his thrusts.

He barely got the tissues around the head of his cock before he came, biting his bottom lip to stop from screaming curses. Mycroft continued to thrust and pull as Greg leaked into the tissues, head tilted and eyes shut.

Mycroft came quickly and barely silently, a loud swear echoing around the room.

‘Mycroft!’ Greg scolded and winced as the tall man pulled out of him.

‘Sorry,’ Mycroft said, grabbing some tissues from the desk. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No... worries,’ Greg mumbled as he cleaned himself up. Mycroft dropped his used tissues and the condom into Greg’s bin before pulling up his underwear and trousers.

Buckled and zipped, Mycroft fell into Greg’s office chair and smiled. Greg couldn’t help the grin spreading over his face as he sat on Mycroft’s warm lap, brushing a hand through the politician’s hair.

‘Missed you,’ Greg said softly and kissed him, his lips warm and oh so tasty.

‘I missed you too,’ Mycroft mumbled against his lips. He pulled back to rest his head on Greg’s chest, the DI’s on his shoulder. They just sat enjoying each other’s company, Greg kissing Mycroft’s jaw every few minutes.

‘Are you back for a while?’

‘I’m completely free until tomorrow afternoon.’

Greg sighed. ‘That sucks; you’ve been gone a week.’

‘I know, Gregory, but work–’

Greg cut him off with a kiss. ‘Yeah, I know. I just miss my boyfriend; ignore my complaints.’

‘I would never ignore you, Gregory,’ Mycroft smiled at him. He paused to run a hand over Greg’s thigh, always enjoying the warmth.

‘What is it?’ Greg asked.

‘I was wondering if you’d like to stay with me tonight,’ Mycroft said.

‘Yeah, ’course. I’ll make dinner, okay? I know you probably haven’t eaten in three days.’

Mycroft grinned and kissed him. He didn’t say what was really on his mind; that he wanted Greg to move in with him. Mycroft wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. He loved Gregory more than anything, more than his job or his own existence. Mycroft wanted to spend every minute of every day with Greg (though they’d probably drive each other insane if they did).

He just didn’t know if Greg wanted to move in. They’d been dating nearly eight months, the longest (and only) relationship Mycroft had ever been in. He knew Greg’s longest had been four months. Being a DI was tough on personal relationships and nobody had stuck around long enough to really fall in love with Greg.

But Mycroft had; they both had. They were still together after eight long months of awkward first dates, tentative kisses, embarrassing sexual acts, great sexual acts, problems, fighting, yadda, yadda... they’d gone through it all. Mycroft had never been happier.

He wanted Greg to move in.

But how did he ask?

There was a knock on the door and Mycroft pulled himself out of his thoughts as Greg sat up and straightened his clothes. Mycroft pocketed the lube and switched seats, sitting in one in front of Greg’s desk. He tried to look like he hadn’t just been fucking the DI as Greg opened his door.

Greg chatted with someone at the door as Mycroft once again got lost in his thoughts. He never believed he’d actual meet someone he wanted to date or have sex with, let alone move in with. Suddenly he was grateful that Sherlock had decided to crash crime scenes and be a complete and utter annoying sod. Sherlock was the reason for this relationship and Mycroft had the sudden urge to send him something.

But his boyfriend was back so Mycroft pushed that to the back of his mind.

‘Seems I’ve got an early release.’

‘Really?’ Mycroft said, looking up at Greg with the appropriate surprised/happy look.

Greg snorted. ‘Yeah, like you didn’t know.’

Mycroft smiled; Gregory knew him well.

‘So let’s go have some lunch and then we’re shagging at your place.’

‘Twice in one day?’ Mycroft asked as he stood, picking up his umbrella.

Greg shrugged into his coat. ‘Yes, Mycroft. Perhaps even five times in one day if I can manage.’ He kissed Mycroft quickly and left, Mycroft feeling positively aroused as he turned to follow.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg made Mycroft eat all his lunch, something Mycroft didn’t mind doing as long as he got sex later. Which he did. Very, very, _very_ good sex. Panting and lying on his back, Mycroft suddenly found that he couldn’t go one more night without having Greg in his bed. Even if they didn’t spend every night together (which they wouldn’t, what with their jobs and all), Mycroft still wanted Greg right there, sleeping on the same sheets and under the same duvet.

He wanted his flat to be Greg’s too; Greg’s kitchen and bathroom and bedroom and _everything._

‘Gregory?’

‘Mm?’ Greg was thoroughly blissed out and content. He didn’t even want a cigarette which said amazing things about Mycroft’s ability to fuck.

‘I want you to move in with me.’

Greg sat up faster than should have been possible for a man who’d come three times in three hours (Mycroft was very good at being discreet in the back of an expensive car).

‘What?’

‘I want you to move in with me, here,’ Mycroft said. ‘I can’t go another minute with you living so far away. Please move out of your flat and come live here.’

Greg stared at him, open mouthed. He really couldn’t believe that Mycroft was asking. Mycroft _wanted_ him to move in. Greg had thought it would be a big conversation, maybe a fight or a panic attack or a reach for cigarettes and booze. But Mycroft had just... just _asked_ him.

‘Gregory?’

‘I... yeah, just... uh...’

‘If you don’t want to I understand,’ Mycroft said. Greg could see the devastation on his face.

‘No, I want to.’

‘Really?’ Mycroft instantly lit up. ‘You don’t have to, of course, but I want you to.’

‘I do, really!’ Greg shouted and threw himself at his boyfriend. They were both hot and sticky but Greg didn’t care; he needed to rub himself completely over Mycroft to prove just how much he loved him. ‘I do, I do, I do, I DO!’

Mycroft chuckled, grinning. ‘You’re acting like I just proposed.’

‘Don’t give me any ideas,’ Greg mumbled into his chest.

They’d never spoken about marriage. Greg knew that one day he’d want to officially be recognised as Mycroft’s partner. He wanted to be able to call the man his husband and wear a ring that said, ‘Back off, I’m bloody well taken’. Or more likely Mycroft’s ring would say, ‘If you even think about touching my husband I will kidnap you, kill you several different ways and then have you thrown into an active volcano’.

But they’d only been dating eight months... close to eight months, anyway. Greg knew marriage was a long way off. But if Mycroft had asked him right then and there Greg would have said yes. He would say yes to anything, including throwing people into active volcanos. All Mycroft had to do was ask, maybe flutter his eyes a little.

Greg was in deep and he loved it.

‘I love you,’ Mycroft murmured. ‘Thank you.’

‘Thank _you_ ,’ Greg grinned and kissed him. ‘Thank you so much, Mycroft Holmes.’

‘For what?’

‘For being you.’

Mycroft smiled.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft stood in Greg’s kitchen placing pans into a box. He hadn’t realised Greg owned more than one pan. He, of course, owned a dozen but they rarely got used unless Greg was coming over. His heart fluttered as he realised Greg was no longer just ‘coming over’. He was coming _home._

‘Please stop smiling, it’s creepy,’ Sherlock drawled. He was going through Greg’s bookcase, throwing novels over his shoulder and missing the boxes completely.

‘You’re not helping, Sherlock,’ Mycroft sighed.

Sherlock smirked. ‘You asked me to unpack the bookshelf. You did _not_ ask me to pack them safely into boxes.’

Mycroft cursed. Sometimes he forgot to be one hundred percent clear with Sherlock. Once he’d asked his younger brother to help clear out his room in preparation for university. Sherlock had taken that to mean, ‘Use high grade C4 to blow up my room so that that side of the house is no longer liveable’.

‘Sherlock, please,’ Mycroft sighed. ‘This is hard enough without you being annoying.’

‘Why is this hard?’ Sherlock questioned, going back to throwing books. ‘I thought Lestrade wanted to live with you. Did the drugs you gave him wear off?’

Mycroft tutted. ‘Sherlock, we are both very busy men. Gregory refused to let me hire movers; he said he wanted to do it himself. So we are here, now, on one of my rare free afternoons. Please, for once, just do as I ask and put the books in the boxes.’

Sherlock turned slowly and his head tilted as he took his brother in. Seemingly seeing what he wanted, he turned back and chucked books into the boxes.

‘Sherlock!’

‘You said to put them _in_ the boxes, not put them in _gently._ ’

Mycroft glared.

 

-oOo-

Greg and John came into the living room ten minutes later to find Sherlock and Mycroft shouting.

‘You said throw them!’ the younger Holmes yelled.

‘I said _place_ them!’ Mycroft retorted just as loudly.

‘No, I’m quite sure you said throw them.’

‘Why would I ask you to throw Gregory’s DVDs?’

‘I admit I was a bit surprised but figured if that was what you wanted than that was what I would do.’

‘Sherlock, why must you be so annoying?’

‘Why must _you_ mumble your words? Honestly, none of this would have happened if you had just enunciated your words clearly.’

Greg and John both smiled; nobody spoke clearer than Mycroft Holmes.

‘I bloody well did–’

Greg quickly stepped forward and circled his arms around Mycroft’s waist. He knew his boyfriend was really angry when he started saying ‘bloody’.

‘Easy, Myc.’

Sherlock snorted. ‘ _Myc_.’

‘Sherly, stop it,’ John said and grinned when Sherlock glared at him. ‘Come on, help me in the bathroom.’

‘I do _not_ want to see Lestrade’s toiletries!’ Sherlock snapped but allowed John to drag him away.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mycroft sighed, his anger disappearing the instant Greg put his lips to the younger man’s neck.

‘Don’t worry, Sherlock’s an arsehole.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘Yes, he is.’

Greg chuckled and unwrapped himself, giving Mycroft a chaste kiss. ‘How long do you think this will take?’

‘Not long if I call–’

‘No.’

‘But Gregory–’

‘Nope.’

‘Please reconsider–’

‘Nah.’

‘Greg–’

‘Zip.’

‘I–’

Greg silenced him with a very hot and passionate kiss, forcing their crotches together as he backed Mycroft into the fridge. Mycroft groaned and went to wrap his arms around Greg but the DI was already pulling away.

Mycroft knew he wouldn’t get a word in and resigned himself to taping up boxes of kitchen supplies.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg stacked his books into the boxes and Mycroft helped him tape them up. They were wrapping lamps and other bits and bobs in newspaper when Sherlock and John came back. They were both carrying boxes and looked flushed, their clothes all over the place.

‘Oh God, you had sex in my bathroom,’ Greg said.

‘Technically we had sex in _a_ bathroom,’ Sherlock said as he dumped a box of razors, gel and shampoo on the coffee table. ‘My brother said your landlord has already leased the flat.’

Greg groaned. ‘That... it... yuck.’

‘Hey, what we do is lovely and natural,’ John said and Greg rolled his eyes.

‘Seeing as how Sherlock isn’t lovely _or_ natural, forgive me if I don’t believe you.’

Mycroft snorted as Sherlock taped up the box he’d been carrying. ‘Lestrade, how did your parents not know you are gay? The amount of product you use is ridiculous.’

Greg glared at him. He knew that maybe he used too many lotions, maybe a bit too much mousse when he was going out. And okay, so he used a lot of shower gel when he finally managed to make it to the bathroom... and yeah, his skin was rough, he needed to moisturise.

‘Shut up,’ he finally managed and turned pink. He hated how gay he sounded in his own head. Really, why didn’t he just smack himself with a stereotype?

John smiled and Sherlock smirked. Mycroft said, ‘Gregory, you do not use too many lotions. You use a healthy amount and take pride in your appearance; there is nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘Yes, Mycroft uses twice as many,’ Sherlock said and John giggled. ‘He started when he was sixteen; Mummy should realise by now that a straight sixteen-year-old doesn’t use five different types of hand lotion... although he probably wasn’t using them to soften his hands.’

Mycroft scowled. ‘I’m sorry, Sherlock, but wasn’t it you who used that rather gay gel to style your hair all through your fifth year? Or am I thinking of a different brother, one who also kept copious amounts of baby wipes in his top draw?’

It was Sherlock’s turn to glare. ‘I used those for... sanitary needs.’

‘Oh dear God, you masturbated with baby wipes!’ Greg gasped before he could stop himself, earning a groan from Mycroft and a growl from Sherlock.

John was enjoying a good laugh now, mainly because he was the only one not getting picked on. That changed when all three men looked at him.

‘No, come on, I didn’t do anything!’ John said, hands up.

‘John uses coconut scented body wash,’ Mycroft stated.

‘And he scrubs himself a little too hard with one of those puffy things,’ Sherlock said.

‘I know for a fact that the good doctor used to use his sister’s face wash when he ran out of moisturiser,’ Greg finished.

John glared at each of them as his cheeks turned an alarming shade of red. ‘Listen closely,’ he said loudly, ‘because I’m not going to repeat myself. I happen to like the smell of coconut, a soft ‘puffy thing’ as Sherlock put it is quite nice when my boyfriend hasn’t touched me for a week because of some stupid case, and face wash is as good a lubricant as any and cleans the skin. Got it? Right, so unless you three want everyone in this room to hear one big secret that I know about each of you, you’re going to shut up.’

Well that was telling them. Sherlock grinned, amazingly aroused when John was angry. Greg snapped his mouth shut and turned away. Mycroft blushed.

Greg and Mycroft were more than happy to go back to packing, there wasn’t that much stuff left besides furniture, but Sherlock wanted to know Mycroft’s and Greg’s secrets. And apparently he didn’t care if they knew his.

‘Tell me, John, please,’ he begged, following the doctor as he folded blankets and towels into boxes.

‘No.’

‘But I need to know,’ he said and took the towel John had picked up. ‘Please, John, I’m begging here.’

‘I know and it’s funny.’

Sherlock scowled. ‘You will tell me right now what you know about my brother and his boyfriend.’ He paused when John raised his eyebrows. ‘... please?’

John smirked. ‘No.’

‘JOHN HAMISH WATSON!’ Sherlock shouted and threw the towel at him. He stalked over to Greg. ‘What does he know about you?’

Greg shrugged. ‘Lots of things; none of them are interesting.’

‘Do not lie to me!’ Sherlock glared before rounding on his brother. ‘What could John possibly know about you?’

Mycroft just smiled and said, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

Sherlock was getting agitated now. Drastic measures had to be taken.

 

-oOo-

 

‘Fine,’ John said when Sherlock rubbed up against his back and breathed in his ear. Mycroft and Greg groaned.

‘Three minutes,’ Mycroft said.

‘You went three whole minutes before giving in,’ Greg tutted.

John smiled. ‘Sherlock, you really want to know?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘ _Yes_.’

‘Are you absolutely, positively, one hundred percent–’

‘JOHN!’

‘Okay,’ John smiled. ‘Gregory–’

‘John, _please_ ,’ Greg said, cheeks already turning pink. He’d told John so much at their pub nights. He really didn’t want John revealing his biggest secret.

John smiled. ‘We’re all family here.’

‘John–’ Greg warned but John wasn’t listening.

‘Gregory,’ the doctor continued, ‘slept with his sister’s boyfriend when he was eighteen.’

Greg groaned and fell to sit on the sofa.

‘You did?’ Sherlock asked, frowning. ‘Why is that so bad?’

‘It’s a ‘bit not good’, Sherlock,’ John said. ‘Especially when they’re both drunk and the guy isn’t gay.’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘You had sex with a straight boy?’

‘Yes,’ Greg sighed. ‘I always thought he was cute and we got drunk and... God, he was so fucking mad he beat the crap out of me a few days later. I never told Val what it was about but I think she’s always suspected...’ he trailed off and looked at Mycroft.

‘That was... interesting,’ Sherlock said.

‘Yeah,’ John nodded. ‘Especially since his sister married the guy twenty years ago.’

Greg groaned and Mycroft choked on the water he’d been drinking. Sherlock looked absolutely gleeful as Mycroft said, ‘You slept with your sister’s husband?’

‘He wasn’t her husband then,’ Greg tried. ‘I didn’t mean to... how was I supposed to know they’d end up married? I was a horny eighteen-year-old.’

John snorted.

‘This is... excellent,’ Sherlock said and grinned. Greg glared at him. No doubt Sherlock would be saving that piece of information until he met Greg’s twin.

Greg scowled as Mycroft crossed the room. He wrapped his arms around the DI and kissed him softly. ‘You were young, Gregory, and you made a mistake. It’s in the past.’

‘I bedded a straight guy while he was intoxicated,’ Greg groaned. ‘I arrest people for that.’

‘You were dunk too,’ Mycroft mumbled into his ear and Greg smiled.

‘What do you know about my brother?’ Sherlock demanded, turning to face John once more.

John smiled and Mycroft turned to look at him. John was well aware that Mycroft had the power to make his life hell, make him disappear, _kill_ him. But the information really wasn’t _that_ bad.

‘Well, Mycroft–’

The elder Holmes groaned and buried his face into Greg’s neck. ‘Don’t hate me.’

‘Why would I?’

‘Because of what John might say.’

Greg smiled. ‘Unless he says you cheated on me, don’t love me, slept with him, or are actually a straight alien than I don’t really care.’

Mycroft chuckled.

John smiled. It wasn’t anything that amazing. Though it was pretty good. John remembered it well; sitting on the couch with Sherlock, who was buzzed out on pain and John’s loyalty. His phone buzzing...

‘Mycroft once told me that I was right and he was wrong; and he was glad.’

Sherlock’s eyes went wide and Greg raised an eyebrow. ‘Mycroft admitted he was wrong?’ Sherlock asked.

John nodded, looking at the elder Holmes. ‘Yup. He said he was glad to be proven wrong.’

‘About what?’ Sherlock demanded. ‘Not once in my life has Mycroft said he was glad to be wrong, or that he was even wrong. Tell me, now!’

John smiled and said, ‘Do you remember when I told Mycroft I believed in you?’ Sherlock nodded. ‘The night you smashed the mirror Mycroft texted me and said, ‘ _I’m glad I was wrong, Dr Watson_ ’.’

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open and he stared at his brother.

‘What’s the big deal?’ Greg asked. ‘He apologises to me all the time.’

‘Yes, apologises,’ Sherlock said, ‘but never actually says, ‘ _I was wrong_ ’.’

Greg turned. ‘Actually, that’s true. You say sorry for waking me or using my phone battery or nicking my smokes but you never say it was wrong of you to do so.’

Mycroft tutted. ‘Do I really have to?’

‘You did for John.’ Greg crossed his arms, staring at his boyfriend.

Mycroft paused for a second before saying, ‘Gregory, I was wrong to be nervous about dating you. I was wrong to lie to you about my drinking. I was wrong to use your phone battery, your iPod and your car without telling you. I was wrong to not meet you earlier. I was wrong to not say I was wrong to you. Can you ever forgive me?’

Greg chuckled and pulled him in for a kiss. ‘Yeah, I forgive you.’

‘Excellent.’

Sherlock groaned. ‘That was more trouble than it was worth.’

With a smile, John continued folding towels.

‘Wait,’ Mycroft said and broke away from Greg. ‘We haven’t heard Sherlock’s secret.’

Sherlock immediately looked away and Greg grinned. ‘Come on, Johnny.’

The last towel folded, John picked up the tape and pulled a length. He stuck it across the box and said, ‘Hmm... one of Sherlock’s secrets...’

‘John, I will never sleep with you again if you tell them anything.’

John grinned. ‘I doubt that, Sherlock.’

‘Please, John,’ Sherlock whined and his boyfriend laughed.

‘At least it won’t be about you sleeping with your brother’s boyfriend,’ Greg grinned and Sherlock scowled.

‘That will never ever happen,’ Mycroft said and his arms wrapped around Greg again, pulling him in tightly. Greg chuckled.

‘Go on, John,’ the DI said. ‘You tattled on us.’

Slowly John turned to lean against the wall and folded his arms. ‘Sherlock told me once that he wished he had a little brother.’ His eyes didn’t leave Sherlock’s face as he said, ‘He admitted he wanted a little brother to take care of like Mycroft took care of him. He said he’d settle for a son with me.’

Sherlock looked away from all of them quickly, clearly embarrassed by John’s words. Greg felt Mycroft stiffen against him and he turned to look up at his boyfriend.

‘Sherlock,’ Mycroft said carefully.

‘What?’ the younger Holmes mumbled.

Mycroft bit his lip before saying, ‘You’ll make an excellent father.’

Sherlock’s head snapped up to look at his brother. ‘Really?’

He actually sounded like he was looking for Mycroft’s approval and reassurance; it made Greg grin.

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said. ‘I don’t doubt for a second that you will be a fantastic father. John too.’

John grinned at the flush that crept up Sherlock’s face.

‘Th-thank you,’ Sherlock managed and Greg wondered if Sherlock had ever said those words to his brother before.

John was across the room and pulling Sherlock into a fierce kiss. It grew very heated and they backed towards the bathroom.

‘Oi!’ Greg shouted but they didn’t listen. He heard the bathroom door slam and sighed. ‘I’m glad I’m moving out of here. I’ll never be able to use that room again.’

Mycroft chuckled and kissed his cheek.

‘I can’t believe Sherlock said that.’

‘Mm,’ Mycroft mumbled against him. ‘He is rather full of surprises.’

‘He’ll be a good dad,’ Greg said. ‘I agree with you. Good but very weird.’

Mycroft smiled and pulled himself away. ‘We better get back to work. I doubt Sherlock and Dr Watson will be able to join us for at least half-an-hour.’

Greg smirked and said, ‘You’re a dirty man, Mycroft Holmes.’

Mycroft threw a box at him. Greg retaliated with a roll of tape. They ended up fighting on the couch and...

...let’s just say it was a good idea Sherlock and John were occupied.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg dropped the box he was carrying and stood to stretch. His back creaked and groaned, making Greg feel as old as he was. ‘Ah, I’m too old!’

‘No you’re not.’

Greg smiled and looked across at Mycroft. He was stacking the boxes marked ‘kitchen’ on the counter. ‘Yeah I am.’

Mycroft shook his head. ‘No.’

‘I’m forty-seven.’

Mycroft just smiled. Greg stretched again and from the corner of his eye watched as his boyfriend ran his eyes over his body. Greg knew the shirt he was wearing rode up when he stood on his toes, hands above his head. He did it again and Mycroft swallowed.

‘Myc?’

‘Huh?’

Greg grinned, glad that he could still make Mycroft so flustered just by showing off a bit of skin. They’d been together months but still had the ability to turn each other on. Greg hoped it would never end.

‘Whatchya lookin’ at?’ Greg asked, lowering his arms. He pulled his shirt down and Mycroft blushed.

‘Nothing,’ he said and cleared his throat. ‘We should start unpacking; we don’t want boxes piling up.’

‘Unpacking is boring,’ Greg said and approached Mycroft swiftly. Mycroft pulled a box into his arms and turned to find Greg standing before him.

‘Gregory, if we unpack now we don’t have to do it later. I am completely free until tomorrow morning.’

‘Exactly.’

‘So we should use this time to do something constructive.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Why do you keep saying that?’

Greg smiled and grabbed the box. He threw it over his shoulder and Mycroft watched books spill across the floorboards.

‘Gregory?’

Greg grabbed Mycroft’s shirt and hauled him in for a kiss. Their lips crashed together and Mycroft groaned, biting at Greg’s bottom lip. Greg pulled back and Mycroft opened his eyes as the DI pulled him across the room.

He dropped onto the couch and dragged Mycroft down, their lips pushing together again. Mycroft moaned as Greg pushed his crotch up, their erections pressing together.

‘Greg-ory,’ he managed as Greg attacked his lips. He gasped for air, Greg nibbling on his jaw. ‘We should be unpacking.’

‘Nope,’ Greg mumbled against his skin. He sucked on the politician’s neck and Mycroft swallowed.

‘Gregory.’

‘Mm,’ Greg murmured, hands moving to squeeze Mycroft’s arse.

‘We should at least move to the bedroom.’

‘No we shouldn’t.’

‘Greg–’

He was cut off by another searing kiss, Greg shifting to reach for Mycroft’s shirt. He  pulled the buttons free quickly and shoved his hands across Mycroft’s chest, feeling soft hair and hot skin. Mycroft groaned and pulled himself up.

‘Myc?’

Mycroft shrugged his shirt free and bent down to lick Greg’s neck, the DI groaning as Mycroft ripped at his shirt. He got it free and kissed Greg again, hands trailing down to his jeans. Greg’s belt came free beneath nimble fingers and Greg kicked his shoes off as Mycroft pushed a hand down his underwear.

‘Oh God,’ Greg groaned as Mycroft’s hand wrapped around his cock. He pushed up into the feeling, biting his lip as Mycroft’s mouth drifted across to his ear.

‘Gregory?’

‘W-what?’

‘I think we’re wearing too much clothing.’

‘Uh-huh.’

Mycroft stepped off the couch to remove his shoes, socks and trousers. Greg wiggled from his jeans and looked up in time to see Mycroft slip from his underwear. He shifted to sit and pulled Mycroft closer by his hips, lips wrapping around his boyfriend’s cock.

‘Oh,’ Mycroft moaned and closed his eyes, Greg hollowing his cheeks. His fingers scraped through Greg’s hair, winding the spiky grey locks around and around.

Greg’s eyes fluttered as Mycroft’s hot shaft trailed along his tongue, pre-come filling his mouth with a salty taste.

Mycroft’s eyes opened when Greg’s hot mouth left his skin. He looked down to see Greg pulling a box open. He found a bottle of moisturiser and popped the cap.

‘Really?’

Greg smiled. ‘No time to look for lube.’

‘Our bedroom is right over there.’

Greg’s heart skipped a beat and he grinned, looking up. Our bedroom. Mycroft had said _our bedroom_. Greg had never felt this happy before and he squeezed moisturiser over his fingers. He wrapped them around Mycroft’s cock and the politician groaned, thrusting into the feeling. Pulling his underwear down, Greg fell back onto the couch and smiled up at Mycroft.

Mycroft grinned back and dropped to his knees between Greg’s legs. Warm hands pushed his legs aside and Mycroft took Greg’s hand, slathering his fingers in moisturiser. Greg groaned when a finger entered him, Mycroft working quickly to loosen him.

‘God, please,’ Greg begged, ‘now.’

‘Now?’

‘God yes.’

The next thing Greg knew Mycroft was pushing in, buried up to the hilt in seconds. Their bodies rested together and Greg let out a loud moan, muscles tightening around Mycroft’s cock.

‘Fuck, now.’

Mycroft began moving and wet hands gripped Greg’s thighs, holding him in place as he fucked him.

‘God, Myc,’ Greg groaned, biting his lips and wrapping a hand around his cock. He pumped in time to Mycroft’s thrusts.

‘We... live... together,’ Mycroft said, watching pleasure cross Greg’s face. ‘Our first... fuck... living together.’

‘Not our... last,’ Greg moaned and opened his eyes to look at Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled. ‘No, definitely not.’ He leaned forward to capture Greg’s lips, his tongue darting in to taste Greg. Greg’s gasps were lost in Mycroft’s mouth as he continued to thrust, his cock sliding along the DI’s prostate.

‘Jesus,’ Greg groaned against Mycroft, biting at the politician’s lips. ‘So... close...’

Mycroft could feel his own orgasm curling in his crotch but held off. He wanted Greg to come first; he wanted to fuck Greg until he was completely spent.

Mycroft wrapped his right hand around Greg’s and helped jerk him off. The DI moaned loudly, his body constricting as an orgasm hurtled towards him.

‘I want to hear you come,’ Mycroft commanded, ‘loudly.’

‘Mmf,’ Greg grunted.

‘Now.’

Greg came, shooting all over his stomach and their intertwined hands. He shouted, his voice echoing around the flat and making Mycroft smile. He flopped back onto the couch, breathing heavily and licking his lips.

Mycroft had halted his movements in favour of watching Greg glow in the aftermath. He smiled and trailed his fingers along Greg’s thighs, skin damp with sweat.

‘Myc?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘Are you just gonna sit there staring at me?’ Greg demanded. ‘Or are you gonna fuck me?’

Mycroft smiled and leaned down to kiss him softly, slipping out of Greg’s tight entrance. ‘Are you sure you can handle it?’

‘Yes!’ Greg snapped. ‘Fuck me, damn it!’

Mycroft chuckled and grabbed his own cock, moving it back to Greg’s entrance. He moaned as he pushed back in; Greg was so tight after coming. ‘God,’ he grunted, pushing all the way back in. He felt Greg squeeze around him and looked up.

‘Come on,’ Greg smiled, still breathless. ‘Fuck me as hard as you can.’

Mycroft did. His fingers dug into Greg’s hips as he pulled him in, cock slamming into Greg’s tender hole.

‘Jesus,’ Greg groaned, biting his lip as he watched Mycroft. ‘Harder, please.’

Mycroft shifted and pulled Greg’s hips up while at the same time hooking Greg’s legs over his shoulders. His hands hit the couch on either side of Greg as he pulled back before sliding in quickly, angled so he once again hit Greg’s prostate.

‘Oh!’ Greg gasped.

Mycroft opened his eyes to see that Greg was getting hard. His cock was thickening quickly and Greg moaned, hand fisting over his tender flesh.

‘Oh God.’

Mycroft’s head dropped as he concentred on fucking Greg as long and hard as he could. Once again he felt an orgasm coming closer, crashing through his body in an attempt to completely rip him from the world in a haze of bliss.

He pushed in with one long, hard thrust and came, leaking into Greg with a shout. He shook above Greg, arms threatening to buckle and send him crashing into his boyfriend. He managed to remain up right and Greg moaned, ‘God, please, keep going.’

‘Wah?’ Mycroft managed, peeling his eyes open.

Greg was pulling on his thick cock, pre-come dripping from the slit.

‘Please, please, more.’

Mycroft didn’t know how he managed it but he drew back, pushing his limp cock into Greg again. In a few short, tired thrusts Greg was coming again, spilling over his stomach and swearing loudly.

‘Jesus Fucking Christ, Mycroft,’ he moaned, dropping his arms to his side.

Mycroft managed to shift so he was lying against the back of the couch, one arm under Greg’s head.

‘I haven’t come twice since I was sixteen,’ Greg managed to murmur a few minutes later.

Mycroft smiled. ‘Mm.’

Greg realised he wasn’t capable of speech and settled into his boyfriend, legs wrapped together in a sweaty heap.

Ten minutes later their breathing had returned to normal and Greg said, ‘Mycroft?’

‘Mm?’

Greg turned to look at his boyfriend. The man looked completely bone-less, body glistening with sweat and moisturiser. His eyes were closed and he looked on the verge of sleep.

‘We live together,’ Greg said and grinned as he nuzzled into Mycroft’s neck. He felt fingers caress his cheek softly.

‘Yes, we do.’

‘I’m so happy, Myc, you have no idea.’

‘I think I do,’ Mycroft said and opened his eyes, turning to look at Greg. He smiled and kissed him softly. ‘I love you too.’

Greg smiled and closed his eyes, hugging Mycroft closely in their flat.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick Note: This, and pretty much most of my 'Impact' stories, are beta-d by squarerootofrsquared from fanfiction.net. I apologise to her for not giving her credit where it was deserved earlier but I'm new to acrchiveofourown. I thank her on every story at fanfiction.net and will start doing it here.


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